


Big Damn Heroes

by mirrorblues



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space, France is a planet, Gen, I used a famous Firefly quote for the title i'm so original, Space AU, Space Pirates, enjolras has a spaceship, everything's a planet, heavily inspired by Firefly, i'm going to regret posting this when it's not 3:30 in the morning, it's called the patria because what else would it be, some things are moons, space revolutioning, this is probably terrible I'm sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-19
Updated: 2013-06-19
Packaged: 2017-12-15 11:28:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/849037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mirrorblues/pseuds/mirrorblues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set far into the future, in a world where Earth isn't just a planet but an entire solar system and the New Earth System has been held under the iron grip of the Alliance for as long as anyone can remember, an unlikely group of people try to find their way through—or to—the quickly rising revolution.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> umm basically a thing i've been working on and i figured it was about time i upload something and i don't totally hate this  
> it's very heavily inspired by firefly and i borrow a lot of aspects from joss whedon's marvelous universe  
> so um happy reading

**THE _PATRIA_  
** **THE PARIS BAY, FRANCE  
 **JANUARY 3RD, THE YEAR 132****

The row of ships seemed to stretch on forever. Small, sleek scouter ships were nestled between huge Alliance warships and a long row of brand-new cruise ships shone in the mid-afternoon sun. It was none of those ships that Marius Pontmercy was heading towards, nor was he going to the classy expedition ships or the clunky, passenger ships.  
The _Patria_ could be found between an old repurposed police cruiser and a freighter ship, significantly smaller than both. It was hardly glamorous (although anyone would admit that it was better than the former police cruiser, which was a garish green-brown, the lettering on the side barely visible), though it was a well-kept ship.  
“Bout time, Pontmercy,” Courfeyrac grinned at Marius, engine grease smeared all over his face. How he’d managed that, Marius wasn’t completely certain, as he was the pilot and not supposed to be anywhere near the engines. “We’ve been waiting.” Marius knew Courf was lying; he wasn’t needed back for another hour. Marius was admittedly quite terrible at keeping track of time, but he, for once, had been on time. That is, unless Courfeyrac had messed with his watch again.  
“No you haven’t,” Marius replied.  
“You’re right, we haven’t,” Courfeyrac tilted his head up. “Hey, Jehan! Lower the ramp! Pontmercy’s here.” The familiar rush and creak of the ramp being lowered did not come. Courfeyrac tapped his foot impatiently. “Jean Prouvaire!” he shouted. “Get your flowery ass out of whatever the hell it is you’re doing and let us in already!”  
There was a moment of quiet—silence was impossible to find on the docks, as there was always _something_ happening, at all hours of the day—and then a low, long creak sounded, and the ramp was lowered.  
“We need oil for that,” Marius stated the obvious. Courfeyrac slammed the heel of his boot into the ramp, the impact shaking loose the caked mud on his boots. He must have been on a supplies run; the lower market area was always a muddy wreck, and it had been a rainy weekend in Paris. That still didn’t explain the grease though, and Marius wasn’t certain it was a story he wanted to hear.  
Waiting in the shady entrance of the ship was Jean Prouvaire, his dirty-blond hair a mess, gaze focused on a small notebook.  
“Does the word ‘effulgent’ sound too pretentious?” he asked them. Courfeyrac shrugged.  
“I have no idea what that means,” he admitted, rubbing at the grease on his face with a ratty old towel. He didn’t have a lot of success in removing it. It looked to Marius like he was only succeeding in making it worse.  
“It means radiant,” Marius told him, looking away from the pilot as he spoke, “Something beautiful, that shines brightly.” The cargo hold of the _Patria_ seemed strangely empty without the rover in it. Someone must be out picking up something large.  
“Sounds like a totally useless word,” Courf commented, giving up on the towel and tossing it over his shoulder. It hit Jehan in the face, snapping the poet out of the thoughtful trance he’d been in.  
“Hey!” he exclaimed, indignant.  
Courfeyrac looked completely unapologetic. “Oops.” Jehan picked the cloth up between two fingers and hung it up on one of the hooks lining the walls.  
“Are we picking up passengers this time?” Marius asked them. Jehan shrugged, to no one’s surprise. The poet’s head always seemed to be lost in the clouds—although there had been many times when he’d been unnervingly aware of current events, understanding situations far better than anyone around.  
“Course we are,” Courf said. “And you’re the one getting them.” Marius opened his mouth to argue, but the pilot had him by the shoulders, steering him back outside.  
“I don’t do well with the customer interaction thing,” Marius protested, “I don’t even know where we’re going!” Jehan jammed something in his pocket, and when Marius pulled it out he saw that it was an itinerary, written in the tight, neat and thankfully perfectly legible handwriting of Combeferre. “Why can’t you do it?” Marius demanded, looking at Courfeyrac, who was always much better at convincing people to fly with them.  
“Can’t. I’ve got important pilot things to do,” Courfeyrac said. “Also, I want to clean up, even if I am still stunningly beautiful, even if I’m covered in grease.” He reached over, opening up a compartment and retrieved the wrinkled green flag, tossing it to Marius.  
“How did that even happen?” Jehan asked curiously, tilting his head to the side.  
“It’s a long story,” Courfeyrac started to head away, going in the direction of the stairs. “It involves a cow.”  
“I’m very interested to know,” Jehan followed him upstairs, “You’ll have to tell me.” Marius sighed as Courfeyrac began to tell his story, gesturing wildly with his hands. He turned away from them, looking out towards the sea of strangers. It seemed very daunting, to go out there and talk to them, and ultimately—hopefully—get some of them to want to ride on the _Patria_.  
He had no idea how he was going to do this.


	2. Chapter 2

**_THE PATRON-MINETTE_  
 **THE PARIS BAY, FRANCE  
**** **JANUARY 3RD, THE YEAR 132**

Eponine Thenardier sighed, dropping the wrench to the ground and swiping a hand across her forehead, no doubt leaving a streak of grease across her skin.  
She hardly cared; it wasn’t like she was going to be needing to impress anyone. The crew of her ship, the _Patron-Minette_ , had all seen her looking far worse.  
And most of them were ugly bastards anyways, and she didn’t feel any particular need to look good around them.  
“That should keep us going for a while,” she called, kicking open the door to the engine room with a heavily-booted foot. “It’d keep us going longer if you’d just get the damn parts,” she added in a mutter, leaving the room. The hallway felt comfortably cool compared to the dense heat of the engine room, and she let out a heavy breath of air.  
God, she hated this ship.  
“Good girl, Ponine,” her father shouted, his voice barely audible. She’d guess he was in the cockpit, or possibly the cargo bay. There wasn’t much more to the tiny ship, which had originally been a police cruiser. According to her father, he’d gotten it from a German mechanic who liked refitting and redoing old Alliance ships and then sold them for cheap. Eponine suspected he’d just stolen it from a cop.  
She headed down the hallway, which opened up into the cargo bay, which then split off into either the cockpit, or went upstairs to the dorm section. There were only three actual cabins on the ship, and one had been repurposed to serve as a small (and very badly-stocked) infirmary. It wasn’t a ship meant for a crew—it was designed for two or three, but could be piloted by just one. A crew of seven was far too large, and most of them were forced to find a semi-private place to sleep in. Eponine had taken over the engine room, unbearably hot as it could be at times. It was private, and the sound of the engines had become a sort of comfort over the years.  
“Hey sweetheart,” Montparnasse grinned at her, tipping his hat to her, as if he were a gentleman and she a lady. The thought almost made her snort. Montparnasse had the look of a gentleman, with his high, regal features and dramatic coloring, and his clothing was expensive if worn (and stolen), but he was, for the most part, a petty criminal who just happened to have a penchant for nice clothing. There wasn’t much that was gentlemanly about him.  
As for Eponine, well, she was about as far from ladylike as one could get. Montparnasse was probably more ladylike than she was.  
“Don’t call me sweetheart,” she responded automatically. His grin widened.  
“Heard you got us running again,” he said conversationally.  
“Of course I did.” Machines and mechanics had always come easily to Eponine, a fact that she regarded with pride. It was a slight condolence, to be naturally gifted, especially as one who had not been lucky in most other aspects of her life. Montparnasse held out his arm to her, another gesture that was just so very bourgeois. He would have done much better born to a higher class, or perhaps he would have been a monster. She swatted him away, though she fell into step with him as they walked down the hall. “Where are we going next?” she asked.  
“The colonies, if I’m not mistaken,” he replied, and she arched an eyebrow. They didn’t often hit the outer rings of the system. The planets and moons out there were only just developing, and the majority of them had very little of value, and therefore were not usually worth a visit.  
“Sounds pointless,” she returned. “And it sounds a nightmare for you,” she added, a smirk rising. “You could get dirt on your fancy outfits, ‘Parnasse.” He sneered, out of disgust at the idea or a retaliation to her remark, she didn’t know. Montparnasse was never easy to read.  
“I’m not so shallow as you seem to think, Eponine,” he said, although she knew he was. He wasn’t likely to venture far from the ship though, not unless he was needed. And if they really were making a run out to the colonies, Eponine doubted they’d have much use for an assassin.  
“Of course not.” Her words dripped with sarcasm. “Did my Father say when we’re leaving?”  
“This afternoon,” he met the sudden shift in their conversation without batting an eye. That was always how their conversations went, shifting from sarcastic biting remarks, to affected civility, to a businesslike seriousness. And once in awhile, rarely, they would find a kind of congeniality in their banter, a strange sort of companionship that bordered at times on friendship.  
“Great. I’ll see you later then, Monty,” she dropped the hated nickname in an almost friendly way, throwing him one last look before slamming her fist into the release button, lowering the ramp. The clamoring noises of the bay greeted her, the familiar sounds of the everyday hustle and bustle making her smile.  
She felt a little lighter when she left the ship behind her, the ramp closing with a clack.  
Right beside the _Patron-Minette_ was another ship, which hadn’t been there when they’d arrived. She recognized it instantly though—the _Patria_ was a beautiful ship, and not a common model, faster than most of the passenger ships, which tended to be awkward and clunky and not designed well at all.  
Standing outside the ship, shaded from the mid-afternoon sun by the ship was a young man, looking awkward and uncomfortable, twisting a green flag between his fingers.  
Eponine smiled.  
“Monsieur Marius,” she called, running to him. Marius turned, a bit of his nervous tension vanishing at the sight of her.  
“Why Eponine Thenardier,” he greeted her, smiling openly. “I haven’t seen you in forever.” It had been six months since she’d last seen him—since he’d joined the crew of the Patria and sailed away to do good, honest work on a good, honest ship.  
“You haven’t been here the last few times,” she told him. His shoulders drooped forwards.  
“I know,” he said, looking sad. “We have such terrible timing, or our ships, really.” He looked up at her. “Where are you going next?”  
“America.” The lie came easily, without a thought, although left her feeling like she’d swallowed something sour. “You?”  
“The usual stops,” Marius looked down at the small, square card in his hand, reading off it, “Germany, the UK—England, actually—and then the Americas, and well, it’s a long list. I don’t want to bore you.” He smiled sheepishly, returning the card to his pocket.  
“You weren’t boring me,” she said, and it wasn’t a lie. Marius was a very ordinary kind of person; the kind of person who was not overly handsome, but attractive in a certain light. He wasn’t dumb, but he wasn’t a genius either and all in all, he was not the sort of person you would consider, at a first glance, particularly interesting. But he was anything but boring. There was something in him that she found enchanting, a spark of kindness and curiosity, a kind of warmth that was such a welcome change from the calculating coldness of the crew of the _Patron-Minette_.  
He gave her an endearing sheepish smile and looked back at the crowd.  
“I’m very bad at attracting customers,” he informed her, causing her to laugh. “It seems funny, but Enjolras will be mad if I don’t get anyone.” Eponine knew the captain of the Patria, although she’d never spoken with him. She didn’t like him much—he reminded her of Montparnasse, despite being nearly polar opposites. Enjolras was like a living sunlight, golden bright and often blinding, while Montparnasse seemed to be made of shadows and cunning moonlight. And from what she’d heard, mostly from Marius, Enjolras was a great supporter of the people, a patriot in a revolutionary sense, whereas Montparnasse cared for himself, and himself only.  
But yet there was the similar distance to them, a coolness that Eponine could never quite describe.  
Marius sat down on the ramp, letting his legs dangle over the side, the toes of his shoes just barely scraping the ground.  
“Maybe I can convince Courfeyrac to take the watch,” he said with a sigh, looking down at the flag. He looked over his shoulder, into the ship. Courfeyrac was nowhere in sight. “Or maybe not.” Eponine laughed.  
“Hey, Ponine!” Gavroche appeared at her shoulder, tugging on the ragged sleeve of her shirt. She turned around, grinning over at her younger brother. Marius gave him a friendly smile.  
“Hi Gavroche,” he waved the flag in greeting. The gamin gave him a quick, dismissive wave of hello, then turned back to Eponine. Out of the corner of her eye, Eponine saw Marius slump forward, his expression much like a kicked dog’s.  
“Eponine,” Gavroche dragged out her name, his voice an excited whine. “Are we doing the thing?”  
Eponine glanced over her shoulder at the ship she'd spent so much of her life on, feeling her lip curl up in disgust at it.  
“Yeah,” she said. “We’re doing the thing.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading this all the way through!  
> reviews are lovely and constructive criticism is a fabulous thing :D


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